Launch

Today has been a big day. Against all odds and despite all signs to the contrary over the last couple of years, 21st Century Portraits is now out in the world and tonight it launched at the National Portrait Gallery.

21st Century Portraits

Today is a BIG day. Like, 245 pages big. The Book is now on sale.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating and frankly strange to think that all my words are now out there in the world for public consumption. We’ll try not to go near that other c word (criticism) for now.

I’m incredibly proud of how hard I worked to help make this book happen and hope that anyone with the excellent sense to buy it (…) appreciates its provocations, its beauty and its best intentions.

I always said I wasn’t going to leave London until the bloody thing was published and so here it is, and now here I go, in just two and a half weeks time. Talk about back to back Significant Life Moments.

I wrote a book.

Elsewhere in the world brilliant friends of mine are on the brink of delivering small humans. This week, yesterday, I was borne of a book whose labour has only taken three and half years. I feel overwhelmed, elated, terrified and not sure what to do with it. I just keep staring at it. For several hours last night it went like this:

(Dazed wandering about the house, book invariably clutched to chest or held at a length with look of clinical curiosity.)

“It’s a book. I wrote a book.”

“I, me, I wrote a book.”

“I wrote this.”

“A book.”

“It’s a book, an ACTUAL book.”

“Oh my god I wrote a book.”

(Ongoing disbelief and dumb wonderment etc. etc.)

Some thoughts on art and other things

Swings and roundabouts. Last weekend I left the house once (for chocolate). The weekend before I was out and about all over the place. 

I was actually working last Saturday, overseeing the production of a short film for work, part of which involved orchestrating and participating in a walking tour around some of the lesser known art spaces in Peckham. 

A little bit of lately

At the time of writing I’m en route to Kassel, Germany to see Documenta 13 – globetrotting art dilettante that I am – but even with a dedicated couple of hours to give here I’m slightly overwhelmed as to where to start on what is effectively a “Life Lately” catch up. Or really, a life lately, and life not so lately catch up.

The last nearly two months have been frantic. I do remember the last time I was this overwhelmed with exhaustion and adrenaline and it was pretty ugly then but that feels like a warm up compared to this recent marathon of sleep-deprived madness. 

Things I Want To Do When...

Am busy. Stupidly busy. Swigging diet coke at 3am busy. It's awful. I look awful. But soon - soon - it will be finished and normal transmission will resume.

Then I Will...

Loveliness and busyness

I’ve been wanting to write about the Damien Hirst exhibition at Tate for a couple of weeks now. But every time I go to write about it, well, I get a bit cross and cranky. So I’m going to save that for another day.

Instead I’m going to reflect on last weekend– lovely, lovely last weekend.

On Friday evening I joined two of my favourite Antipodeans, Katie and Nina – my cocktail coterie - for dinner at Shrimpy’s. Nina made the booking six weeks ago, which tells you lots about both Nina’s organisation and the popularity of this hip little pop up restaurant by the canal near Kings Cross. It’s the work of the genius team behind east London’s Bistrotheque.

OK so it's been a while

But hear me out. 

After an emotional birthday week, sweetened by lovely gestures and kind words and teary but determinedly happy memories life kicked up a gear with the arrival of Lovely Boys parents. It was so good to have visitors from home, especially ones laden with Tim Tams and talk of home and we celebrated their arrival with a walk to Putney in the uncharacteristic heat. Rest assured the heat didn't last but it was a pretty glorious day that included lunch at the pub across the road and a collective afternoon nap.

Walking to Putney along the river

The week was punctuated by some truly lovely outings - one a night at the River Cafe and another at the Wyndham Theatre falling a little bit in love with David Tennant's delightfully silly Benedict in the sold out production of Much Ado About Nothing also starring Catherine Tate.

A rare moment of summer...

Dusk after dinner at the River Cafe.

My in-laws-to-be left us on the Friday heading for Sweden and on Sunday I spent the day with my sister's partner's sister, Grace, who was passing through London as part of an eight month post-school, pre-university pilgrimmage to The Rest of The World. It was lovely actually - we met at Tate and wandered along the Southbank before heading up to Trafalgar Square so I could show Grace the Fourth Plinth and the very beautiful living wall that the National Gallery have built to distract from their renovations. A living, growing, blooming Van Gogh anyone?

Southbank bunting love continues...

Just another day at the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. 

LOVE. 

Then of course it was down the Mall to Buckingham Palace before doubling back to visit my old stomping ground the National Portrait Gallery. Still love.

This last week has been sluggish. Have been crazy tired and not feeling altogether fabulous so Monday was a sleep and sort it out day with a doctors appointment and an acupuncture session. I was talked into an accupressure/reflexology massage of my feet - apparently brutally executed excruciating leap-off-the-table pain is the ultimate cure all for insomnia. We'll see.

There's lots of things happening in the next couple of weeks to look forward - lots more visitors from home, some exciting work opportunities, like getting to meet Mark Wallinger, Nina and Steve's wedding next weekend and tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'm off to Paris for the day. Ouuuuuuuuui!

Exhaustion thy name is Full Time Work

I am zonked. I should be in bed right now and know I will regret it in the morning but I've just finished up the last of my NPG work and LB is cooking us a late light dinner while I fight the urge to rest my head on the keyboard.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new pair of shoes

I think today has been what people refer to as A Very Good Day. My first day of work at South London Gallery began with some auspicious advice courtesy of Oval tube station:

It was a fairly apt piece of advice given the day I was set to have which was one part fabulous, one part hugely enjoyable, one part enormously promising and five parts overwhelming. They weren't joking when they said I would be leaping in from day one but apart from a small moment of panic threatening to manifest itself as quiet tears I was so into the day and may have resisted the urge to skip with excitement when I left this afternoon. I love the people I'm going to be working with, I'm excited about the challenges to come (which will probably be tomorrow...) and I feel I acquitted myself reasonably well in the face of what was a massive information dump and an expectation of immediate competency.

Things seem to be coming together and I'm not even going to be snotty about it and say "at last".

Last week was a lot of fun, after the interviews and tests and offer of The Job. There was champagne with girlfriend Jen on Tuesday and a charcuterie board to drool over at Fernandez and Wells in Soho with Tors on Thursday. This was before we took in a so-bad-it-was-excellent movie and consequently made the Ashton Kutcher-inspired decision to host a Razziefest, as well as an Oscarfest, next year. And then on Friday, LB and I had a date with some posh bar food at St John's in Smithfield and some joyous Australian theatre at the Barbican courtesy of the Belvoir's touring production of The Sapphires. Seriously, nothing says happy like Motown.

Before my rendezvous with the Lovely Boy I had a rendezvous with the Lovely Selfridges where I may have done some pre-job purchasing of new shoes and trousers. So Good. Oh I've missed shopping. sigh... Seriously, nothing says happy like a bright yellow shopping bag.

This afternoon I went to the NPG for a meeting and farewell afternoon tea for my lovely editor - a chance, I figured, to have a relaxed conversation with the Managing Editor and the Head of Publications and impress upon them my commitment, my enthusiasm and my so burning it almost needs an ointment desire to see this bloody book published. Boy am I glad I went. Just before leaving my lovely editor gave me something of a parting gift - namely a contract guaranteeing my name in print with all due credit and details of PAYMENT to be made to me in thanks.

It turns out 50,000 words is not an insignificant contribution.

It's not a huge sum of money in the grand scheme of things, but I am beyond happy about it and feel not so much flattered or grateful as honoured really, as strange as that sounds, that the value of my work and efforts have been recognised. I mean, I'm not an idiot, I know the no doubt impending sticky issue of copyright probably had something to do with it but I am so happy and shocked that I don't even care. I'm even happy to wrangle my way through the self-employed tax return nightmare that being paid will no doubt involve.

It has been A Very Good Day. Surprising, satisfying, inspiring, promising. And it's only Monday. God only knows what Tuesday will bring.

The test of a personality

So I got a second interview. I think this is a good thing. It's certainly not outright rejection and it gives me a chance to feel like, if I get offered and then take the job, it was the result of a considered decision - by them and by me - and not a knee-jerk reaction to what has basically been 12 months of unemployment. The interview is on Tuesday afternoon and yesterday I spent nearly three hours completing a psychometric test in anticipation of said "informal" interview. A personality test, basically. One can only hope I don't fail that. I could handle a rejection on the grounds of technical incompetence but not because I'm not a morning person.... We will see....

A purple letter kind of day

I know you can have a red letter day, I'm assuming by right of reply you can then also have a blue letter day... but throw the two together and my question is this: have I just had a purple letter day? A splash of blue, a hint of red and we come out somewhere in the middle?

The day did not start well. After a you-really-should-know-better telling off by my hairdresser last week that I should only wash my hair every other day this morning began with a shake of my not so shiny swishy hair and a brief moment of thanks for the Pantene stocks I never invested in, what with their now significant drop in value... Anyway, the half hour I should have saved from faffing with my hair was wasted on trying to find clothing that would see me through eight respectable hours at the gallery and five rather grotty, beer stained hours at the bar. Basically, I left the house feeling frumpy, grumpy, sans good hair and late.

Art and cake and plans ahoy

Cornwall coast

It's been a surprisingly fruitful, if not frustrating week. The reality of not having a job is fast becoming annoying, exacerbated no doubt by the unfortunate turn in writing towards a feeling of it being, well, homework. Some not so exciting artists and some works so well-known it is impossible to write anything original about them without six months of intensive research and even then it would still risk sounding familiar. Am pushing through but the rate of productivity has severely slipped so this week needs to be tackled with the sort of bloody minded ruthlessness usually applied to a dessert chasing five courses and a cheese platter. And yes, I probably will end up feeling just as ill at the end of it.

Art and pesto... the art of pesto?

I don't know where the last week has gone but wherever it went it went quickly.

For the most part I have been at home, sitting at the little desk LB procured for me, writing diligently if not excessively about portraits, artists and the 21st century. I don't know if it's the magic of the desk, or the submission to total art submersion but I have really got a buzz from the writing I've accomplished this week.

Adrian Ghenie, Pie Fight Study 2, 2008

Cloudy with a chance of meatballs

Apparently ten days of sunshine DOES a summer make. We've gone from hot and sunny to hot and cloudy to cloudy and muggy to cloudy and muggy with a dash, not a hint, of rain. I'm not sure where this is going but it isn't to the beach.

One thing Leeds to another

FINALLY. Open toed shoe weather has arrived in London and it is delightful. There aren't many pro's to being fundamentally unemployed (I could probably count them on two fingers...) but afternoons on the sofa, in the sunshine, with a bowl of ripe passionfruits would absolutely be one of them. (I would say the only one but given that I'm staring at an imminent and ongoing lack of career I'd like to hold out for the possibility of even one more tick in the pro column, however tenuous.)

Sunshine on a rainy day

It's been a red letter week. I am earnestly exhausted after two full days of honest toil at my new retail job on the Kings Rd and now, after a fretful week of waiting, am delighted, ecstatic, overjoyed, optimistic and RELIEVED to have been offered the role at the National Portrait Gallery.

Ex.hale.

It is miserably cold and I am bone weary after a long week and a longer weekend but buoyed by the blue skies and a whisper of, well, promise.

A week ago you could have had me committed. And the straw that finally broke the camel's already laden back? Not having the right pair of shoes to wear. I think it was particularly confusing for LB to witness my meltdown and the apparent lack of a genuine reason for it but I was done. All toys were chucked from the perennial pram of my life and nothing, save three double vodkas, could fix it - my life or my lack of shoe.

Optimism

Not something I generally deal in but if the blooms can push on through, despite the rain and the sleet and the ear-biting cold, well, maybe I should give it a crack?

It's been a bumpy couple of weeks but I feel like things are slowly on the up. LB and I celebrated our one year anniversary nearly two weeks ago and went for a mouth-watering Spanish meal on Great Portland Street to mark the occasion. LB broke the no presents rule but it's hard to feign fury when presented with sparkling baubles so I somewhat promptly forgave him. And fell just a little bit more in love with him when I read his card. Thanks to a dash of creativity with his gin and tonic, LB penned me a poem, inspired by our very first dinner date. It was lovely and thoughtful and hilarious and at points, it even rhymed. Spoilt I am.